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wailed Aunt Susan, as she poured the water off the potatoes.

"If I ebber git out o' dis ribber alive, I'll break her old deaf head, I will!" growled the victim; and then, raising his voice, he shouted,—

"You dare, old Satan, hi, hi I" As if in direct answer, came the song,—

"He struggles wid de evil one;
But he gained de vict'ry, shore!"

"Susan, Susan! if I had ye by de wool, I'd barry dat old deaf head agin de cabin till yer eyes couldn't see!"he screamed; and he made another tremendous effort to get loose. It was successful; and just then she sang,—

"Oh! whar's de angel now?
Send him 'long; send him 'long!"

"De angel am a-comin'!" growled Uncle Reuben as he waded ashore; "and he'll turn dat cabin inside out!"

He limped up to the house. She was placing the meal on the table, and singing,—

"He's gwine to be baptized;
He's gwine—"

when he entered the house, and gave her a cuff on the ear which nearly loosened the roots of her hair.

"Oh, yes! Fie an angel wid wings on, I is!" he yelled, as he brought her another cuff; "and I'ze gwine to glory, —and I'll knock yer old head off!—and I'ze gwine tojine de band—and you deaf old alligator!—and I'ze gwine up to heaven—and blame yer old deaf ears!—and de glory am acomin'!"

People who know Uncle Reuben say that he swears again with great relish; and it is certain that he hasn't been up to Vicksburg to be baptized, and become a church-member.

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SUPPLEMENT TO

One. Hundred Choice Selections, No. 9

CONTAINING

SENTIMENTS For Publio Occasions;

WITTICISMS For Home Enjoyment;

LIFE THOUGHTS For Private Reflection;

FUNNY SAYINGS For Social Pastime, *e

Say not that friendship's but a name,

Sincere we none can find;

An empty bubble in the air,

A phantom of the mind.

What is this life without a friend?

A dreary race to run,

A desert where no water is,

A world without a sun. Alfred. If you can be well without health, you can be happy without virtue. liurke.

An honorable death is better than an inglorious life.

Socrates.

Mere empty-headed conceit excites our pity, but ostentatious hypocrisy awakens our disgust. Dickens

The Sabbath is the golden clasp which binds together the volume of the week. Longfellow,

The path of sorrow, and that path alone,

Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;

No traveler ever reached that blest abode

Who found not thorns and briers in the road. Cowper.

Oh, happy you, who, blest with present bliss,

See not with fatal prescience future tears,

Nor the dear moment of enjoyment miss

Through gloomy discontent, or sullen fears

Foreboding many a storm for coming years. Mrs. Tighe.

The modest water saw its God, and blushed. Crashaw.

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Knowledge may slumber in the memory, but it neve* dies; it is like the dormouse in its home in the old ivied tower, that sleeps while winter lasts, but wakes with the >arm breath of ijg.

The base wretch who hoards up all he can

Is praised and called a careful, thrifty man. Lhyden.

Extreme vanity sometimes hides under the garb of ultra modesty. Mrs. Jameson.

It needs not great wealth a kind heart to display,—
If the hand be but willing, it soon finds a way;
And the poorest one yet in the humblest abode
May help a poor brother a step on the road. Stvain.

I wouldn't give a penny for a man as would drive a nail in slack because he didn't get extra pay for it. Geo. Eliot.

For who would lose,
Though full of pain this intellectual being,
Those thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost
In the wide tomb of uncreated night? Milton.

Misfortune does not always wait on vice; nor is success the constant guest of virtue. Hazard.

Unblemished let me live, or die unknown;

Oh grant an honest fame, or grant me none. Pope.

Happy the man who can endure the highest and the lowest fortune. He who has endured such vicissitudes with equanimity has deprived misfortune of its power. Seneca.

Were I, O God, in churchless lands remaining,

Far from all voice of teachers or divines,

My soul would find, in flowers of thy ordaining.

Priests, sermons, shrines! Horace Smith.

It is one of the sad conditions of life, that experience is not transmissible. No man will learn from the sufferings of another; he mu3t suffer himself.

I feel no Ci're of coin;

Well-doing is my wealth;

My mind to me an empire is,

While grace aflordeth health. Southwell.

Words are things; and a small drop of ink, falling like dew upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think. Byron,

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